


Braime One-Shots

by mentallyinwalmart



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Love, Love Confessions, Reunions, Sisters, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-20 18:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18998461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentallyinwalmart/pseuds/mentallyinwalmart
Summary: These are a variety of one shots that span from post-8x06 fits dealing with loss, and some AU's!chapter 1&2 are angsty, chapter 3 is a reunion fic, chapter 4 is a soulmate AU, chapter 5 is a more tender reimagining of their first time in 8x04, chapter 6 is a sword fight between the two of them over who loves the other more, and Chapter 7 is the Braime Baby fic!!!hope you enjoy!xxBea





	1. Late Bleeding

She bled a couple weeks later, and a little bit extra that month.

And with the blood, came tears, came prayers both good and bad, and more tears. She thanked the Mother that she would not carry a bastard, his bastard. And later those same nights she would plead with the Father for his fate, for hers.

For that of the baby.

Much was to be done, and when she, Podrick, and Sansa rode South to come to the aid of her Lady’s brother, she had known he was gone. She had known he was dead, and her bleeding was late. She’d heard what it was like of course, at different times in her life she’d been around women with child, or who thought they might be. She had noticed a few of them on her own person. Tenderness in some spots when normally it would not be, an aversion to the occasional familiar smell, and of course, the delay in the bleeding.

She visited Tyrion the first night she returned. She had demanded he be released for his brothers funeral. Despite everything she fought for, Cersei was not granted an official burial, rather, her corpse was tossed in one of the mass graves. And of course, no one would refuse her request for Tyrion’s presence at the burial. Grey worm had tried, of course, but she had sworn to him that she would return his prisoner. And Ser Brienne, the Maid Of Tarth never broke an oath. So Tyrion was released into her charge, and the two of them painted the stones they would place over his brothers eyes.

She had tried not to weep in front of Tyrion, but it had been six weeks, there was no blood, and of course, the stones on his eyes meant that truly he was gone. Gone from this world and into the next. She wondered if she’d see him there, and then wether she wanted to or not.

She stood tall, but when Tyrion gripped her arm she let her facade drop. She placed Willow’s Wail at his side, and fought with her mind over whether to place Oathkeeper beside it.

'It’s yours. It will always be yours.'

She clung to her sword.

She told Sansa that night. They both wept, and Sansa explained that after the first time, sometimes it is late. But together they prepared a plan, several plans, just in case.

The next morning, Brienne awoke with blood in her sheets.

“I was wrong, my lady.” Is all she said when Sansa asked the following day.

It was spoken of no further.

She tried not to dwell on it. But sometimes, late at night, Brienne would wonder how her life would be different if the baby had held, if there had been a baby at all. What life would have been if she had gone to the north with her true queen, and raised the bastard Lannister.

The baby and his father frequented her dreams.


	2. the spell he was born under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tyrion dealing with grief. Examines the relationship Jaime and Tyrion had and how he felt about Jaime's fate

“Why did you come to see me?”

Brienne turned at the voice from below. Away from the window she’d been staring out of. I don’t know. She wanted to say. But it would be a lie. She did know why she was there. Why she needed to speak to him. They never looked alike, but they had the same eyes And the same smile. Granted, Tyrion wasn’t smiling now, but each time she’d meet his gaze, those eyes, his eyes would bore into her very soul.

“Was he happy?”

Tyrion was slightly shocked at the Knights question. He’d assume she’d ask about how his brother had died, if it had been some sort of trick, if he’d ever actually loved her, or perhaps why he had left. But what the maid of Tarth requested was almost worse.

“Yes.” Tyrion heard his voice crack along with his heart as he met her shining sapphire eyes. “He was. Just before Bronn came” he paused, “all he could speak of was his happiness.”

Brienne nodded. She turned back to the window of the prison cell and took in the ruined red keep across the skyline. If she looked hard enough, perhaps she could spot a hidden clue as to what it all meant.

“Brienne my brother was a loathsome man.”

Instinctively, despite the pain he had wrought on her heart, she still reached for the hilt of Oathkeeper. The metal frozen the blood in her veins and tears bit at her eyes.

“But not because he only loved Cersei. No, he stopped loving her as anything more than a sister a long time ago.” He stares out the window, as though he too searched for meaning in the ruins of the palace. “He was loathsome because he believed their fates were tied. He was loathsome because no matter how much he loved you,” he looked at his hands “or how much he claimed to have loved me, he would always believe he owed her something. He died under her spell, the spell she cast in the fleeting moments before he was born.”

Brienne felt daggers of ice freeze her heart as he spoke, for the first time realizing that though yes, he had all but openly declared his love for her and then left, he had left Tyrion, his little brother. She looked down at Tyrion, and wondered how deeply his hurt ran. Probably deeper than hers did.

After all, Jaime had known he was all but signing Tyrion’s death sentence, and still he’d let his brother free him just to see his sister, his cruel, horrible, abusive sister one last time. If he were alive she’d backhand him into tomorrow. But he wasn’t, and instead she stared at the man who had loved Jaime more than she ever could, at the man who had given everything and anything just to see Jaime, her Jaime happy.

“I never even—” she started, but Tyrion reached up and put a hand on hers.

“I know.” Is all he says.

“He could have been happy.” Brienne whispered and Tyrion nods sadly.

“But, for a moment, he was.” Tyrion swallowed hard, “And for him, for a man who had for so long let his life be consumed by a hateful woman, I think that was the best we could hope for.”

Brienne surprised the smaller man by leaning down to embrace him. A few last pieces of ash blew gently on the spring breeze, and muddled with the tears that stained both their faces. Both of them independently wondered why a love as strong as what Jaime had for the other couldn’t compel him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will be more wholesome!!! Just had to write a couple angsty bits first ;)


	3. What Waits in Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne dies and is reunited with old friends and loves in the afterlife  
> (much more wholesome than the last two have been)

Bran had warned her she would not survive the battle. Her strange, off-putting King had called her aside after the final meeting of the small council. 

“You have my blessing to retire from the front lines, and still retain your place on my small council, Ser Brienne.” He had said. 

After a decade and a half of hearing his cryptic blessings or ominous promises, she knew well enough what it meant. She had thanked him for his offer, but kindly refused. She could not, would not, imagine anyone taking her place. She spent her final night with Tyrion, and Podrick, making Tyrion promise to send a raven, with a message she paused to write special, to Sansa. 

Tyrion, by his own merit, knew exactly what was going on, and that night followed Brienne to her rooms where he said a proper goodbye. They embraced and she tearfully made him promise to give little Jaime a good hug and kiss for his aunt Bri. She had always been partial to Tyrion’s youngest son, who seemed to capture the very soul of her long departed love. 

When her fatal blow came the next day she felt little to no pain, and held Podrick’s hands, beseeching him not to cry as her soul slowly detached from her body. Then, like Jon had told them long ago, there was nothing. She was free of the weight of the last twenty five years, free of the weight of everything that had happened. She let herself fade into nothing. 

And then the emptiness around her began to take shape, and she was standing in Winterfell, but not the new one Sansa ruled from, the Winterfell that had burned long ago. Odd, Brienne thought, that of all places she might find her final rest would be in the Keep of a house to which she did not belong. 

“Brienne.” 

The voice of a ghost, one which she had long since stopped hearing in her dreams spun her on her heel. She nearly collapsed into Lady Catelyn’s arms. 

“Lady Catelyn.” She let herself be embraced by the red headed Lady, not bothering to stop the tears. 

“You protected my girls.” Catelyn whispered into Brienne’s chest as she held her tightly, “You did everything I asked. I shall never be able to thank you.”

“Nor will I.” Another voice from long ago implored Brienne to open her eyes and take in the table behind Lady Catelyn. 

The table which seated Lord Eddard, Robb and Theon, Rickkon, Ser Davos, and Loras Tyrell. Direwolves in various dark shades rested under the table at their feet, gnawing on bones from the feast at hand. There were others at the table she did not recognize. A man with auburn hair flecked with grey who wore armor that looked scaled, and a young girl with a half-scaled face who took up the seat beside Ser Davos, giggling as she pointed out different things in a large book that lay between them.

And there, standing in front of all of them, so close she might be able to reach out and touch him, stood Renly, her first love. 

“My Lord.” She bowed her head to him, but he placed a hand on her shoulder as Lady Catelyn retreated from their moment. 

“I ought to be bowing to you, Ser Brienne.” He looks at her and she sees tears also shine in his eyes. “Look at the world you have helped build.” He kisses her hand the same way he had done at her coming out ball. 

Tears fight to once more fall down Brienne’s cheeks as she squeezes Renly’s hand. 

“I missed you.” She whispers as he smiles his crooked smile, before he wraps his arms around her. 

“And I you. You did me better than I deserved.” He says as he pulls away. 

He retreats to his seat at Ser Loras’ side, and Brienne turns for a moment, taking in the happy feast that seems to have Winterfell bursting with light and joy. She takes in the crowd of dancers, spying among them a beautiful young girl with long blonde curls and clear blue eyes, laughing in the arms of a tan, Dornish looking man, and a thin young woman with the same hair and long face as Lord Eddard beaming in the arms of a silver haired lord. She wonders if all who please the mother find their way to this room. 

She sees the seat open for her between Renly and Catelyn, but before she could take it, she moves through the room, intrigued by the bubble of frozen time she finds herself in.The warmth uncommon to the North piques her curiosity, and she moves down the hall, down the old passages of Winterfell, aimlessly seeing how far this new reality stretches, and what will happen if and when she reaches its end. 

“I hope you aren’t already leaving.” Brienne freezes, and the first tear spills down her cheek. “Do you know how long I have waited for this reunion?”

She looks about the room and in a moment realizes it is the room in which she was knighted, and that, though the stools and chairs are arranged the same way they were that fateful night, he is all alone. She swallows hard before turning to face him. 

He is not as she remembers. Not the man she said goodbye to that fateful, freezing night half a dozen winters ago, nor is he the body she watched be buried. This man is younger, lacks the lines in his face she had come to know. He is handsome, more handsome than she had imagined he could be, and his hair is spun gold. His hand is healed, she notices as she watches him ring them, the only outward expression of the nerves he feels. 

“Ser Jaime.” It is barely a whisper, but it is all she can manage, “Why aren’t you–”

But he cuts her off, 

“Aren’t I what? Off making the same mistakes I did when I lived?” He takes a half a step towards her. “I have been brought here by the mercy of the mother. A mother I never believed in.” He bites his lip as he takes another hesitant step towards her. 

“And yet here you are.” She manages, still standing frozen in place. 

“Here I am.”

She pulls him into her embrace, and as he squeezed her tightly in return, she let go of the tears she held. 

“I wrote your deeds in the book.” She mumbles, pulling away from the embrace to stare at him once again, to take in every detail of his face. 

“Brienne you gave me a legacy I never deserved.”

“You are a good man, Jaime.” She smiles, “I only recorded the truth.”

“I already told you–” He starts in counter, but she cuts him off with a kiss, a kiss he quickly succumbs too, their tears flowing into one river down their faces. 

“I love you.” He whispers, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb, “I wish I had told you before.”

But Brienne smiles,

“I knew.” For a moment they bask in the tenderness of the moment, but then he raises an eyebrow and she grins, “I mean come on, it was fairly obvious wasn’t it?”

He opens his mouth to protest but once again she silences him with a kiss, finally letting go of any doubts she had ever had, and enjoying the feeling of being back in the arms of the man she had loved more than anyone else.


	4. ink stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Braime AU that takes place in S6 at the siege of Riverrun

No one had ever written back to Brienne. She believed it was because her soulmate was either dead, or, like the boys at her coming out ball had said: she was so hideous she didn’t have a soulmate.

But sometimes, even now, well into her twelfth winter, sometimes she’d still write a little something, or doodle on her upper arm, the palm of her sword hand, her ribs. Somewhere that could be easily hidden by her armor or clothing. So no one would see, and no one would ever know that despite all odds she still held onto the tiniest speck of hope that perhaps her soulmate was out there. But where she used to draw, or write each and every night, now weeks would go by before she dared make a single stroke.  
—  
Jaime Lannister didn’t believe in soulmates. There was a myriad of reasons, but the main one was that his was decidedly not Cersei. And he didn’t believe there could be anyone else. From his teenage years when she’d first begun their torrid affair, he had faked the marks Cersei would leave on herself, and each time a gentle mark or sweet word would appear on his skin that he could see, he’d have to doodle it on his sister while she slept.

For a long time he believed she didn’t have a soulmate, and he didn’t want to break her heart, so each and every mark had to be perfect. 

But no one can be perfect forever. He awoke with a question of ‘who are you?’ Stained across his ribs. Cersei lacked the same question to match, as well as the explanation for why he, her twin brother, would write such a stupid thing across the ribs of someone he clearly knew. She cast him out. Blamed him for stealing her youth, and corrupting her chance at happiness with his own delusion. Seven months went by without any notes on his body, and he began to wonder if his soulmate had died. If the woman he’d ignored all these years that could’ve been his happiness was really gone.

The siege of riverrun came, and Cersei sent him away. He begged her not to, but she swore him worthless in a fight and said he’d be better off far away.

“Maybe you can find your whore.”

Though he didn’t even know the woman whose dainty drawings and tender notes had graced his body for so many decades, he still felt a pang of anger. He wondered why he’d always prioritized her happiness over his own. He wondered if the woman he’d lost would’ve done the same. 

That night, for the first time in his thirty some odd years of life, Jaime Lannister returned the notes to the woman who had left. The ghost of she who could’ve been his love.

‘I’m sorry’

Written sloppily, barely legible with his left hand on the part of his wrist covered by the straps of his gold hand. He prayed to gods he didn’t believe in that she might see it.  
—  
“M’Lady?”

“What is it Pod?”

“Somethings just come up on your arm.”

Brienne slapped her exposed skin, cursing the flies that frequented riverrun, even now when winter was closing in. But her squire shook his head.  
“No M’Lady. On your wrist. Looks like a child’s writing.”

Brienne looked down and her heart nearly exploded out of her chest. The shaky handwriting fit perfectly across her wide wrist and it took her a moment to process it, that it was really happening.

“Is your soulmate a child?” Podrick chuckled and she smacked him on the arm.

“Better than you.” She teased and Pod sighed.

His soulmate was hesitant to reveal herself, Gods knew why. Podrick was more than wonderful. And despite the ridiculous scrawling, and the fear that still panged inside her chest that perhaps this was some cruel trick, or some horrible jest by the gods, she let herself feel just a tiny bit happy.

She waited for Pod to fall asleep before she replied.

‘All is forgiven’

She fell asleep staring at the words on her wrist, wondering who they might possibly be from.  
—  
Jaime wore gloves the next day, but his heart had flood with a mix of joy and relief when the words had materialized on his wrist. The script was beautiful, more beautiful than he remembered, and it came up all in dark blue ink. He wondered who it could possibly be.

“Hey Kingslayer” Ser Bronn called and Jaime raised an annoyed eyebrow.

“What is it?” He asked, and Bronn pointed.

There, coming through the camp as though she owned the place was Brienne Of Tarth. The woman he’d said goodbye to, had offered Oathkeeper to. A woman whose kindness and gentleness so went against all logical assumptions about her. He headed into the tent and instructed Bronn to send the Lady in when she arrived.  
—  
The tiny, slanted heart that graced Brienne’s forearm gave her strength as she entered Ser Jaime’s tent. She shook herself, drawing strength from her mysterious new visitor to face the only man besides Renly she had ever truly cared for. He was as handsome as he’d been before. More so in fact, with his fresh haircut and fine Lannister armor.

“I have your sword, Ser Jaime.”

“It’s yours.” His voice was firm, and his eyes danced in the faint light, “it will always be yours.”

Brienne focused on the tiny heart from her love, and tried not to let her own flutter. Before he could leave the tent she spoke up again, determined not to be frightened by feelings which she no longer had reason to even bother with.

“Ser Jaime.”

“Lady Brienne.” He quipped back, a smile seeming to play at his lips. She bit her own and furrowed her brow.

“Should it come to a fight, I will have no choice but to fight with Sansa’s kin,” She paused and inhaled, “to fight against you.”

He had paused for a long moment and she feared he would lash out at her.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” His words surprised her.

He was kinder somehow, with her. Not with the rest of them, but with her. She let out a sigh as she turned her attention back to her soulmate, back to love that was fated, not unrequited foolishness. She left to go and speak to the Blackfish, leaving Pod to catch up with Ser Jaime. Before she left however, she let Pod convince her to add a tiny blue star beside the heart on her arm.

“Just in case something goes bad.” He’d said, “I’ve heard you keep the last mark forever. If I ever find them I could tell them how wonderful you were.”

She’d fought back tears as she insisted there would be no need for any of that. But she gave Podrick a rare hug anyway, and warned him not to get himself killed while she was gone.  
—  
Jaime sat with Ser Bronn and Podrick in his tent as they waited for Brienne to return. She had until nightfall. With every inch the sun crept towards the horizon he became more and more worried she would not return. He didn’t know why he cared. He focused on the beautiful star that had joined his pitiful heart on his forearm as Bronn and the squire chatted about nothing of importance.  
—  
Podrick noticed the way Ser Jaime ran the gold hand over his arm in the same place his lady had, the way he seemed to look down every now and then just to check it was still there. When Podrick pretended to slip and Ser Jaime half caught half pushed him back to his feet, he managed to push his sleeve up enough. Enough to see the little black heart and blue star.  
—  
Though she had failed, somehow Ser Jaime had managed to do what she could not, and Riverrun was secured with next to no bloodshed. She watched Jaime wave from the highest balcony of the castle and, despite her fluttering heart, waved back.

“Seven hells!” Podrick cursed and she turned her attention back around to him.

“What, Pod?” She asked, shaking her head as though that might remove thoughts of Ser Jaime from it.

“I forgot Oathkeeper.”

Her heart sunk, and she had taken the oars from him and begun rowing back towards camp before he had even made it halfway through his explanation.  
—  
Jaime had no idea why Lady Brienne’s row boat turned back. But he was eager to find out. He met them where they landed on the bank, and listened as she explained what had happened and apologized over and over. The two of them, with Pod tagging along behind, went back to the camp and searched his tent inside and out.  
Jaime felt his heart pang as he watched her search diligently for the sword. There was something in her eyes, in the way she looked more distraught then he’d ever seen her.

He pressed on, even when she had all but given up, something urging him on, some primal need to make her happy.  
—  
She felt close to tears as each moment dragged on and she was no closer to finding the sword.

“I’m sorry, Ser Jaime.” She apologized, ignoring his reassurance for the hundredth time as she continued her frantic search.

“My lady can you help me for a minute?” She turned at Pod’s request and shuffled dejectedly across the room to help him with something at the table.

He moved a little too quickly and despite her cries for him to be careful, he splashed a bottle of ink all over her face. Now she was crying from the ink in her eyes, though the embarrassment and shame was enough to have her close to tears even without the catalyst.

“Seven Hells Pod!” She protested as she rubbed her eyes, getting ink all over her hands in the process of trying to clear her vision.

“Found it!” Pod called, but Brienne was too busy wiping her face with a rag from the table to even look at where the Squire has located the blade.  
But she was thankful none the less.  
—  
“You clumsy fool” Jaime chuckled, “Lady Brienne, might I say you’ve never—” but he stopped mid jest as he stared at the hand reaching towards the rag to offer her.

Black ink danced like a wave across his hand, and he gasped as he watched the woman across from him fumble with her rags.

“Brienne.”

She turned as he spoke her name, still blinking the ink from her eyes.  
—  
“Oh no, did he get you too?” She asked, starting towards the stunned, ink covered Ser Jaime. 

“I’m sorry.” She felt another pang of embarrassment as she wiped the last of the inky tears from her eyes. “I swear, normally he’s—”

But she also lost her words as she realized what she was doing, and stopped a moment before assaulting his face with the rag in an attempt to wipe him clean. She gasped and stepped back, dropping the rag.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” but Ser Jaime lifted the rag in his hand and placed it in hers.

“Try and wipe it off.” His voice was sharp and she wasn’t sure what sort of game he was playing at.

She stepped closer and gently brushed at the ink splattered across his cheeks and forehead, down his nose, across his lips. Nothing.

“Seven hells, how permanent is this stuff?” She mused as she stood awkwardly before the knight.

“Not very.” He lifted his thumb before gently running it over her cheekbone.

She watched the ink run across his face.

“Impossible.” She whispered, her heart and her mind screaming in unison this had to be a trick.  
—  
“It would appear,” he breathed, leaning in closer to her as he traced the curves of her face, marveling at the way her expression changed with each change to his own ink covered face, “that you are my soulmate.”

Her kiss was gentler, and yet more passionate than Cersei’s had ever been. And when she pulled away, he laughed at the way the ink around her mouth, and he could only assume his as well, had been so moddled and marred.

“Ser Jaime, I—”

She started, but he silenced her with one touch of his thumb against her bottom lip.

“Jaime is fine.” He breathed.

“I can’t believe it’s you, Jaime.” He felt his stomach turn in that delightful way it hadn’t since he’d had a proper fight before he lost his hand.

“I’m sorry I never returned your notes.”

“I’m sorry I’ve spent the last few months writing them on my right hand.”

He couldn’t help but laugh as he saw she was serious, and soon they were both laughing. And then embracing again, and then more laughter.

He had never felt so free. She had never felt so happy.  
—  
Podrick Payne would be smug about the ink and the false pretense of the forgotten sword until they named one of their children after him. Then he would just be cocky about his masterful matchmaking abilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you'd like to read more one shots! I have a couple more ideas lol :)  
> thanks for reading,  
> Bea


	5. Brighter than Lannister Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reimagining of Brienne and Jaime's night together after the Battle of Winterfell (all fluff)

‘You’re a virgin.’ 

Tyrion’s words echoed in her mind as she stalked down the hallway. It was as if, suddenly, the buzzed sense of happiness had drained out of every pore, leaving her as hollow and embarrassed as she had been at her coming out ball.

She made it into her rooms, and sunk into a chair by the fire, watching the flames dance. She could see him in their golden tongues, the flash of his hair when it was long, when they first met. So long ago. She pulled Oathkeeper from her sheath and looked at her reflection on its glinting blade. 

Brienne the beauty. 

She shuddered at the thought of the jest that had been whispered in her wake all her life. She had thought here, with them, she had escaped this inadequacy. Thought that her friends, her equals saw her as that. An equal. Not a beast, not a woman unworthy of the title of lady, but a knight as strong as the rest. 

But the way they’d looked at her when Tyrion spoke, the way Pod had looked uncomfortable, how Tyrion’s laughter had died on his lips. Jaime’s pained expression. 

He’s embarrassed of me. 

True, Brienne thought, never having been fucked was probably better than being a sister fucker. But it was different, for him. Jaime Lannister was handsome, was noble. An honorable man. Her heart fluttered, then sunk like a stone as his face once again appeared in the flames before her. 

The door creaked and Brienne turned. 

“Who’s there?”

But the site of Jaime, disheveled, and awkward in her doorway made the words die on her lips. 

“You didn’t drink.” He closed the door behind him and leaned against the frame. “Has Tormund finally gotten to you?”

She shook her head, but her eyes moistened only a little. 

“What do you want?” Her words came out harsher than she meant, and she bit her tongue. 

Jaime straightened before taking a few steps closer, hesitantly leaning on the back on the chair across from her. 

“I don’t know, Brienne.” The use of her first name made her feel bare in front of him, despite the fact that they had known each other for years. But never had she heard him speak his name like that. Never had he heard him speak any name like that. 

Do not hope. She whispered to herself.

“I don’t know.” He echoed his previous words, the confident, cocky Jaime Lannister she’d always known fading away before her. He fidgeted awkwardly before beginning to shimy his way out of his jacket. “You do keep it hot enough in here.”

“It was one of the first things I learned in the North.” She focuses on steadying her breathing as he drops the jacket to the floor. 

“You know what the first thing I learned was?” He looked at her and in his eyes she saw something she couldn’t quite place. “That I hate the fucking north.” 

Her heart thudded as he took up the seat across from her. 

“Then why did you come?”

One beat, two beats, three beats. Still no answer. She looked up from her hands and found he had leaned closer, his eyes meeting hers. 

“I was always loyal to Cersei you know.” Her heart sunk at the mention of his sister, his truest love. “Do--did whatever she told me to. Family first, that was always our motto.” He pauses, “I have done horrible things for love. For her.” 

Brienne drops her gaze back to her hands, biting the inside of her cheek as he reminisces. She considers asking him to leave, but to her surprise, he reaches out and cups her cheek in his hand, tilting her gaze back to him. 

“But I didn’t know what honor truly was. I cared for the innocents, of course. But as a whole. When I pushed--” He chokes on his words, “When I pushed Bran from the window, I felt no remorse.” He pauses and Brienne worries the heat on her cheeks is enough to burn the room around them. “But I have owned my mistakes. I have learned what honor truly means. I have become a better man.” He brushes his thumb over his cheek bones. “And you have been behind it all.”

Tears gather in Brienne’s eyes the like a fat rain cloud, so close to bursting. So very close. She does not allow herself to get her hopes up. And yet, her heart soars as his eyes tender touch, so different from any in the past sets her aflame. 

“Do you know what I have always thought.” 

Here it comes. She braces herself for the declaration of familial love, for the comment on her skills as a fighter, or perhaps a comment on how hideous she is. The tears in her eyes grow cold. 

“That your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue.” 

The tears of surprise fall like summer rain down her cheeks as her eyes widen in shock. She fears her heart may be beating out of her chest. This has to be a trick. 

 

“Did Tyrion put you up to this?” She stands and moves from his grip, turning her back on him and wiping her eyes quickly. “Because I think I’ve had more than enough teasing for one night.”

Jaime sputtered and stood, coming behind her and taking her arm, turning her to face him. He searches her face, and when his eyes catch on the tears in hers, he looks pained. 

“I dreamed of you.” 

She doesn’t return his gaze, dropping her own as she does her best to put up her walls, to not let what she can only assume to be another horrible trick get her hopes up. 

“I prayed for you.” 

She starts, and looks back at him, meeting his eyes as she sees sincerity all over his face. She knows he does not pray, does not have faith in the gods. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

He pauses for another long moment before speaking again, not daring to once again take her hands in his. 

“Brienne you, you who had no reason to believe in me, to believe I could be--” Now it is his turn to look at his hands, “to believe I could be good. And yet you did.” He looks back at her and she looks at the tears that now gather in his eyes. “You restored my faith in honor. In knights. In true goodness.” He gently reaches out and takes one of her hands in his. “You are unlike anyone I have ever met.”

He takes a step closer and places her hand on his golden one before once again tracing her cheekbone. He tilts her face down just slightly, leaning up until their inches are all but touching. He traces the curve of her lips before swallowing and meeting her eyes. 

“You make me think that perhaps love can motivate goodness. Not selfishness.” 

“I don’t--” She starts, but he cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers, pulling her into him with his hand now in her short blonde hair, trailing to the nape of her neck. 

She kisses back on instinct, still in disbelief that she, Brienne the beauty could possibly be here, in the arms of Jaime Lannister, the most handsome man in the seven kingdoms. 

After what feels like a lifetime, but also much too short a time, he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers. 

“I will never be worthy of you.” He whispers, voice so low she can barely hear it. 

She takes ahold of his face in her hands, tilting it upwards so he must face her. The expression of pain and doubt she can only assume had been present on her face just moments ago had now covered his. 

“You’re not your sister. You’re not.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and he wraps his hand around one of her wrists. 

“You think I’m a good man?” His voice is still tinged with doubt, but in his eyes burns more hope than Brienne had ever seen. More desperate want than she imagined anyone would ever have for her. 

“I do.” She runs her hand down his arms to his gold hand, working his way up his sleeve before slowly unclipping it. She pulls it off and sets it on the table before lifting the stump up, gently tracing the scar tissue with a broad finger. “You are one of the best men I have ever known.” 

She kisses the scar, the reminder of what he had lost, what he had sacrificed for her. Before they even really knew one another. 

He reached out his one hand and began to tug at the knots in the strings holding her shirt together. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice shook as she met his eyes, hands still gently wrapped around his wrist. 

His voice came faint, tinged with what sounded like nerves. 

“Taking off your shirt.” 

She waited a beat, letting herself adjust to how much had changed in the span of a few moments. As she searched his eyes for any sign that perhaps this was some sort of trick, or that he had lied, she could find nothing. And so, she reached out her hands to untie his shirt. 

The moment her hands touched the ties, he continued with his work. As he was about to pull the shirt off of her chest, exposing her to him, not for the first time, but for the first time since the bath, Brienne felt herself freeze. 

Jaime felt it, and stopped just before he was going to finish the task at hand. 

“What is it?” He sounds so gentle, and when he meets her eyes he searches clearly for some sort of fear, or uncertainty in her. But that is not what stops her. 

“I--” She pauses as she rolls one of the strings of his shirt between her thumb and index finger. “I still have the bear scars.”

Jaime pauses, and for a moment she thinks perhaps the spell is broken. Perhaps all it took for him to snap out of this madness was a reminder that under her clothing she was nothing special. That she was hideous in every inch. 

“Brienne you could look like the Hound and still I would want you.” He gently pushes back the collar of her shirt, revealing the top of the jagged, knobby scars. “Even without your beautiful eyes,” He pauses, “your soul shines brighter than Lannister gold ever could.” 

She blinks back those same sweet summer tears as she shrugs out of her shirt, letting it pool on the floor at their feet. She pulls his over his head, and studies the way his abdomen curves and tightens. 

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the longest scar, tenderly following its path down to her chest, before following the next one back up to her collar bones. After he has kissed each scar, he takes her head back in his hands, tenderly pressing a kiss to her soft lips. 

“I have never slept with a knight before.” The Jaime smirk is present in his eyes as she looks down at him and despite her nerves, a smile plays at her lips. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone.”

“But you didn’t drink!” He smiles at her, “Those are the--” But she silences him with another kiss. One he returns, and continues to return until the moon has moved fully across the winter sky.


	6. 'a one handed sword fight'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne resort to a sword fight to determine once and for all who loves the other more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read the books you'll notice a few nods to the iconic Braime sword fight

There were no more gentle, slightly terrified ‘I love you’’s between Jaime and Brienne. It had taken a couple of weeks for them both to get comfortable with the phrase and all the unspoken promises it encapsulated.

But after the first time Brienne said it absentmindedly to him as he left the great hall to train with Pod one evening, all fear had left Jaime’s heart.

“I love you too” he’d replied as Brienne had grown flustered as most every eye in the room had turned upon her.

Were he able to bottle up the joy that had filled his heart to the brim at her bashful smile when he reciprocated her words for all to hear, he would’ve.

But that was weeks ago, and now it was common for the two of them to mutter it back and forth, he often more than her. So often would he say it after delivering a joking insult or when she did something impressive that Sansa had begun to threaten him with taking a lap around the gates of Winterfell if he didn’t knock it off.

But he didn’t, and Brienne would join him on the perimeter runs where he would find reason for them to pause in certain places for a few moments alone. Moments Brienne had initially protested too, but now often initiated as they crossed beneath the portion of the wall where there was a bit of coverage and they’d be free from prying eyes.

But now, ‘I love you’ was not their usual, it had turned to ‘love you more’ and ‘love you most’, one saying the first and the other promptly finishing with the second.

—

Podrick would often joke to Sansa that perhaps they ought fight it out, see once and for all who loved the other the most. Despite herself, Sansa had found the idea hilariously entertaining, and made the Squire promise to find her if ever the event occurred.

And the opportunity dropped right into Pod’s lap less than a week later as he, Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime were the last left in the training area, joking and messing about with no real intent to improve.

“Love you more.” Ser Brienne said with a poorly masked smile as she disarmed her beloved and sent his sparring sword clattering to the ground.

The shorter Knight caught her by surprise by stepping towards her and leaning up onto the balls of his feet to peck her on the lips, then quickly spin her with his good hand and knock the sword from her grip with the golden one while she was distracted.

“Love you most.” He quipped as he wrapped an arm across her throat, holding her in a headlock.

Brienne, not to be outdone turned her face to his and kissed him back, deepening it in a more scandalous fashion than Podrick had even wanted to think about them engaging in. Let alone watch.

Then, when he seemed to be putty in her hands, she flipped him over her shoulder and placed a boot on his chest, grinning down at him.

“No I love you most.”

Ser Jaime had the most ridiculous smile on his face, Podrick felt as though he might be sick. He stepped forward, and saw from the flush of Brienne’s cheeks she had most certainly forgotten their Squire was there.

“Yes yes we know, you love each other more blah blah blah. How about you settle it once and for all.”

Jaime leaned on his elbows from the ground to regard Podrick with a furrowed brow.

“What did you have in mind?” The Knight asked, and Podrick grinned.

They had fallen right into he and Sansa’s trap.

“I propose a sword fight.”

“Easy.” Brienne said, stepping off of Jaime’s chest and moving towards Pod. “I could defeat him in my sleep.”

“A fair sword fight.” Sansa’s voice came from behind Podrick and he spun around to face her, impressed at how she had seemed to materialize at the perfect moment. “We strap Ser Brienne’s arm behind her back and they both fight left handed.”

Brienne grimaced, and Jaime grinned as he stood up and dusted himself off.

“Only if you strap Ser Jaime’s golden hand at his back as well.” She said, motioning to the false limb that winked in the light of the winter afternoon.

“Fair enough.” Sansa nodded, and Pod grinned as he moved to fetch some rope before the request had even left his Lady’s lips.

After they were carefully disarmed, Sansa fetched the blunt steel sparring swords, insisting no one needed to die over this ridiculous feud, but adding a good bruise might serve to remind them how silly it was.

“Oh, and none of this kissing to distract nonsense. Just a good old fashioned fight.”

Jaime began to say something lewd but Sansa smacked him with the flat side of the wooden sword and he shut up with a chuckle.

They squared up as Podrick and Sansa stepped back to the outside of the ring she’d drawn with a wooden longsword in the snow.

“Begin.” Sansa’s command rang clear as a bell.

Podrick watched with a grin as the two Knights circled one another, Jaime looking fairly comfortable while Brienne shifted, doing her best to adjust her stance to the new distribution of weight and focus.

—

The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. Jaime’s blood was singing. This was what he was meant for; he never felt so alive as when he was with her, as when he would spar with her. With each practice they engaged in, he felt more and more like the warrior he used to be. But less and less like the man he’d been. And it felt like a high he never wanted to come down from.

Their dance continued as intensely as it had begun. But unlike their first fight by the brook so long ago, this one thrilled him in a different way.

But the same as that first time, he wanted to make her fight for her victory, and now he had the upper hand. He struck at the places he knew would be most vulnerable to someone whose right arm was newly incapacitated. Brienne absorbed most blows, but one that came right to her side, paired with a slight slip on the snow sent her down to her knees before him.

He grinned down at her.

“Not bad at all,” he said as he paused for a second to catch his breath.

“For a wench?” She asked, brow raised.

“For a Knight.” He echoed without a thought, “At least for one whose dominant hand is tied up.”

As she tried to stand again, he body checked her with his shoulder just as her balance was askew, and sent her sword flying from her hand and her body knocking back into the snow.

—

He landed atop her, straddling her as he gently dragged the blades cold blunt edge across her throat. Brienne shivered not at the cold of the blade, but at the way he loomed over her with a look in his eyes so primal she felt as though he could see right through her armor, right through everything.

“I believe, my love, I have won.” He said as he leaned down and pecked her on the nose.

Brienne wanted to protest but between Podrick and Sansa standing not three meters away, and the way he was looking at her, lust having dissolved into a wholesome, loving desire, she rather felt as though perhaps this was a fight, the first fight ever in fact, that she didn’t mind losing.

—

After a long moment of staring at one another, Jaime helped Brienne up and the two of them shook hands, a gesture Sansa found ridiculous but didn’t bother to question.

She and Pod untied the restraints and then the four of them returned to the great hall where they toasted the winner of the one handed sword fight, and he who loved his Lady Knight the most, Ser Jaime Lannister.

As Sansa laughed among the strange new family she had managed to acquire over the past few years she couldn’t help but feel as though finally Winterfell was once again home.

With laughter and light echoing through the halls, even on the coldest of winter days, Sansa had a dream of spring, and for the family that would no doubt continue to grow around her.


	7. Little Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A braime baby fic (feat. Oathfam)

“So there I was…” Jaime began, a grin spreading across his face as he started this story the same way he did all of her bedtime stories, “It’s three in the morning, and I’m exhausted. But you know what they say, a father’s duty is never done.”

“Really?” His wife chided, “You were tired?”

Jaime grinned at the blonde woman who sat on the other side of the small bed between them before looking back at the golden haired little girl who lay in it.

“Positively.” He said, brushing one of the little girls curls from her face, “But for the first time, it was just you and me.” He smiled, “And suddenly, I was wide awake…”

Everyone else was fast asleep. Including the tiny blonde baby in his arms. Her dark blue eyes had fluttered shut moments ago after staring at him for what felt like a lifetime. Time had seemed to slow down with her in his arms.

He remembered Myrcella and Joffrey, children he had held when they were already a few days old, and when he was no more than a child himself. He remembered the strange hollow heartbreak of giving them short hugs, a quick kiss on the head before handing them back to their “real” father.

He looked back down at the tiny baby swaddled in thick furs to protect her from the cold winter all around her and felt tears once again wet his cheeks. It would not be like that way again. He would never again allow anyone to take his daughter from him, to stop him from being the father he had always wished he’d had.

He looked back towards the large bed a few paces from where he sat by the window. Brienne had finally nodded off after several hours of smiles and introducing their beautiful baby to anyone and everyone of importance.

Sansa was asleep beside his wife, snuggled up like a cat, with Pod dozing at the foot of the bed like a puppy, still decked in his grey armour and black cloak of the Queensguard. Arya had fallen asleep curled in a chair by the fire and Tyrion had only left after he had made sure Jaime, Brienne, and the miscellaneous youths had blankets to sleep under.

But he could not sleep. He wasn’t sure if he would ever sleep again. All he wanted to do was stare at the tiny bundle in his arms, in fact it was all had not to wake her up just to get another glimpse of her big sapphire eyes and delicate smile.

–

“I held you all night, and didn’t sleep a wink.” Jaime said to the little girl, “But you were so beautiful, and so warm and soft in my arms.” It looked as if he was about to cry all over again, “And I have never been so happy.”

Brienne wiped her own eyes quickly as she looked across the bed at her husband. Little Joanna, on whom the story had clearly had the opposite of its soothing intention sat up in bed and put her small hand on her mothers swollen stomach.

“Can I stay up with you when the new baby comes?” She asked, blinking her thick lashes up at her father.

Jaime smiled and gently splayed his large hand atop Joanna’s on Brienne’s stomach.

“Well it will be up to your mother.” He said with a smile, “But, if she falls asleep like last time, I should think so.”

Joanna grinned and threw her arms around her father’s neck. As he rested a hand on the little girl’s back, Brienne felt her smile was so wide it may split her cheeks. After a few more hugs and kisses, Brienne and her husband receded from the room, blowing out the candle on the way out.

After they had made it down the hall and into their own room Brienne turned to her husband, resting a hand gently on his arm.

“Is it true?” She asked as she eased down on the bed.

He took a seat beside her and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Is what true?” He asked, twisting the fingers of his good hand in her now longer hair.

“What you told Jo. About staying up with her all night?”

“Of course it is.” He lifted his head and gently cupped her cheek with his hand. “Brienne I was starstruck by that beautiful little lady. I couldn’t have fallen asleep even if I had wanted to.”

Brienne felt tears gather in her eyes. She had always known Jaime loved their daughter, of course she had, but it was a story like this, some sweet gesture she had never known of before that made her heart swell.

“Well I hope you’re ready to be up late again.” She said, leaning into his gentle caress. “Because the maester says the babe could come any time now.”

Jaime’s smile was so bright Brienne thought it could light up the room.

“I cannot wait.” He said, taking his hand off her cheek to draw up both her hands to him, kissing them gently before planting a kiss right on her lips. “And it sounds like Jo can’t wait either.”

–

Arya caught little Jo in her arms and let out a cackle she was sure Sansa would deem as very unladylike.

“Nice toss, Pod. Trying to drop the little bastard?” She grinned as the Queensguard shrugged sheepishly.

“Like you could do any better.” He chidded back, and Arya raised an eyebrow.

“Was that a challenge, Payne?”

“Throw me back to uncle Pod!” The little lioness said.

Arya grinned, “Whatever my lady commands.”

She swung the little girl back and forth, building some momentum before sending her flying through the air directly into Podrick’s open arms. Joanna whooped as Podrick caught her and clapped her tiny hands.

“Arya!?” Sansa’s voice hurtled down from the balcony and Arya turned sheepishly on her heel to look up at the Queen.

“Yes?” She asked innocently, backing up until she was standing beside Podrick who still held little Jo in his arms.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” She demanded.

“Playing auntie Sansa!!!” Jo cried from Pod’s arms, waving at the red haired lady above them. “Can mummy and daddy come out to play yet?”

Sansa shot the younger Stark a continuous glare and despite herself, Arya felt herself edging closer to Podrick as her sister descended from the balcony and down to the central courtyard.

“They can’t come down love,” Sansa said, coming up to where Arya and Podrick stood and pressing a kiss to each of the little girls cheeks. “But, how would you like to meet your new sister?”

Arya couldn’t be sure whether Podrick or Joanna squealed louder and she guffawed as the Knight nearly broke into a sprint, still holding the little girl, to make it up to the room where Brienne had apparently just given birth.

“Be careful, Payne!” Sansa called after him. But her smile could not be kept from her voice and when she turned back to Arya she was positively beaming.

“What are you so happy about?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess what they named her.” Sansa said and Arya shrugged.

“Did they name her ‘Sansa’?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and she grinned as her sister smacked her on the arm.

“No, stupid. They named her Catelyn. After mum.”

Despite herself Arya felt her jaw drop and her next words escaped her lips before she could stop them,

“Wow. She would’ve hated that wouldn’t she. ‘Catelyn Lannister’.” Arya grinned and braced herself for Sansa to smack her again, but to her surprise her sister began to laugh.

“You’re right. She’s probably rolling in her grave.”

The two sisters laughed in the courtyard for a few blissful moments before Podrick yelled for them to come back upstairs. They obeyed the command and went hand in hand to meet the newest blue eyed baby Brienne and Jaime’s love had sired.

–

Brienne was exhausted, but she did not sleep. Even as the Queen in the North fell asleep with her head in the Knights lap, her former squire draped across the red head, and Arya tucked between them, she managed to keep herself awake.

After Jaime had gotten baby Catelyn back from Arya and Sansa’s tearful embraces, he had refused to let the little one go. She was larger than her older sister had been, two pounds heavier and a little taller. Brienne had been worried about something like that, but where in Joanna she’d seen her own face on a lithe Lannister body, Catelyn was just the opposite. Her build was stocky like Brienne’s, but her face already had the beautiful, angel-kissed look of the Lannisters. Of her husband.

She had watched with joy as Joanna crawled into Jaime’s lap and he had gently introduced her to her new sister, explaining that like Jo, this little one was also named after a mother. The Queen’s mother, the woman who had first brought daddy and mummy together.

Brienne had felt tears slide down her cheeks as he had helped get Joanna comfortable on his chest then gently hum a song until both of the girls were asleep in his arms. She watched as, just like he had explained of the day Jo was born three years ago, he watched the baby sleep, seeming content to have his attentions wholly on the little ones in his embrace.

When she could no longer keep her eyes open, she fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep, body warmed by the pack of adolescents she’d come to love over the years, heart warmed by the sight of her beautiful husband, and even more beautiful children snuggled up by the fire.

–

Jaime watched the same scene as years ago play out before him. Only now, this night, Tyrion did not leave, and he instead pulled up a chair beside Jaime and fell asleep with his head on his shoulder. Jaime watched each member of their little family tire out and fall asleep as the night grew darker, all snuggled up like a pride of lions. Or a pack of wolves.

But as at peace as he was, he still could not sleep. It was as if something deep in his soul wanted him to stay awake. To bask in every moment of peaceful, perfect silence, silence save for Arya’s snores that is, so that he might remember it forever.

He rested his head atop his brothers and smiled as his girls stirred on his chest. Daenerys might not have broken the wheel, but he had broken his own. And here, living a life he never could have imagined being worthy of, or ever achieving, he felt wholly content.

As the winter sun rose on the Lannister-Stark-Payne-Tarth family, and as baby Catelyn uttered her first coos in the daylight Jaime knew that there was goodness in the world. That he had found the happiness his heart had always longed for.


End file.
